Meet Me At the Beginning
by Terra Cody
Summary: Viktor-POV. The day Viktor watches Yuuri's viral video.


The Yuri! On Ice series and its characters are the property of MAPPA, Sayo Yamamoto, and Mitsurō Kubo.

* * *

Meet Me At the Beginning

* * *

6:45 AM

 _I don't want to skate today._

The simple thought that hummed over my subconscious caused me to wake fully and my eyes snapped open. I stared at the ceiling, stunned into silence. My breathing was otherwise calm, which further shocked me. I could barely remember the last time I heard that sentence inside my head—maybe when I was seven or eight years old? I certainly couldn't remember the last time I _spoke_ that thought out loud.

Beside me in bed, Makkachin huffed in his sleep and burrowed into my right side. The reminder of his presence snapped me out of my stupor and I smiled as I pulled him into a hug. " _Dobroye utro_ ," I mumbled, kissing the top of his fluffy head. In a flash he was awake, and his large paws slammed into my chest and knocked me flat onto my back, barking and licking at my face. I couldn't help but laugh at his enthusiasm and be amazed by the energy he had immediately upon waking up.

I let this go on for a few moments, longer than I usually did. When his saliva started sticking into my hair however, I gently pushed him away. Then I reached for my cell phone and saw how early it was. I unlocked my phone and immediately called Yakov. My coach picked up after the second ring. " _Vitya?"_ his tone had both a note of concern, and…dread?

 _That's unusual._ I forced a smile to muster enough cheer in my voice. "Yakov, I wanted to let you know I won't be coming in at all today. Sorry." I heard him suck in a sharp breath, and knew he was about to blow a fuse and start shouting. I quickly ended the call and put my cell phone on silent. It immediately began vibrating in my hand and I knew Yakov was calling me back, but I tossed my phone aside and stretched my arms over my head. "We'll be together all day today, Makkachin! Not just a half-day!" Makkachin barked happily in response, and promptly tackled me again.

I had requested a half-day of practice so that I could take Makkachin in for a vet appointment at 11 o'clock. But after experiencing that one unwanted thought, I knew it would hang over my head for the entirety of my day. I wouldn't be able to skate at my best during practice with that distraction, so it was best that I not go in at all.

My cell phone buzzed violently next to my head and I sighed irritably. _I don't know why Yakov is upset. It's been a long time since I took a day off like this. Wait, is Eurosport coming back to film again today? …No, I remember hearing that reporter say that they had enough footage yesterday._

A film crew from Eurosport had come yesterday to film Yuri Plisetsky for a story related to his promotion into the Senior Division. Sports film crews constantly came to our rink to film skaters (and _I_ had been the focus of a few stories) but it was always exhausting having the film crew there. Practice sessions always stretched hours longer, and it could be frustrating doing jump after jump after jump for the cameras, just for a news story that would barely be five minutes long when it aired. I had wanted to get in some practice and quietly sneak out, but the film crew _insisted_ I stay to film me for the piece. I didn't understand why because _Yuri_ was the focus of the report and not me, but they wanted me to remain in the background whenever Yuri did his jumps, and they wanted to film us talking together.

At one point they filmed us standing near the wall talking for almost an hour. I supposed it was to look like Yuri was seeking advice from me and I was giving him feedback, but Yuri spent the entire segment complaining to me about how demanding the film crew was and that if the producer asked him to do a triple axel one more time he was going to shove their camera up his—well, Yuri was lucky that the film crew was several meters away from us and did not hear the colorful words he was using. But anyway, I got to practice at eight o'clock yesterday morning and didn't leave until seven o'clock that night.

Maybe that was why I didn't want to go in today…maybe. But I took the day off, so I was going to relax with Makkachin before and after his appointment.

I left my cell phone in my bedroom because Yakov was _still_ trying to call me, and I went into the kitchen to make breakfast. It was a wonderful feeling being able to act leisurely at seven o'clock in the morning on a Monday. I opened the refrigerator to look for eggs to fry…and promptly closed it. I plugged my nose and shuddered as I looked at Makkachin. After hesitating for a moment, I slowly opened the fridge again. I realized that it had been a little while (okay, maybe _more_ than a little while) since I had done grocery shopping. I'd bought fresh vegetables, meat, milk, and eggs on my last trip, but I could see (and smell) that all of it had spoiled. I knew I shouldn't have been surprised, though; the season had just ended and I had spent a considerable amount of time abroad competing. And even after getting home I never had time to make myself breakfast, lunch, or dinner, and almost always ate at the rink or when out dining.

 _Well it's a good thing I took today off. Now I can empty out the refrigerator, throw out all this wasted food, and then fill it again with_ _ **more**_ _food that will most likely be spoiled and wasted._

I closed the refrigerator again, and stared at the closed door. I looked at Makkachin again, who sat there wagging his tail enthusiastically and panting expectantly.

I smiled at him, and leaned down so that I was nearly eye-level with him. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

Makkachin barked, and raced off to get his leash. I laughed and straightened, and spared a glance at the refrigerator. _I'll…leave that for later._

* * *

12:09 PM

Leaning back in the waiting room chair, I sighed heavily. I fished my phone out of my coat pocket and checked the time. _We've been here for over an hour. Why is the appointment taking this long? I don't remember the last time any of Makkachin's yearly checkups taking this long._

I sat up straighter, and saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I glanced to my left and saw everyone within the waiting room suddenly shift and look away. I realized that everyone had been staring at me and I forced a smile. It was no wonder though, considering that I, Viktor Nikiforov, had graced a simple vet office's waiting room with my presence. And this wasn't my hubris talking—one of the people in the waiting room had just posted a photograph of me, linking to my Twitter account no less, sitting in this very waiting room just a half-hour ago and using those same words in their Tweet. I had a feeling it was the blonde-haired woman sitting to the northwest of me, her face looming closely over her cell phone's screen. A white Pomeranian sat contently in her lap.

 _Well, I should've expected it. I_ _ **do**_ _have fans everywhere I go._

I wasn't dressed as suavely as I'm sure the other pet owners were used to seeing me dress. I wanted to dress for comfort and even for this outing I chose simple and comfortable clothes—underneath my coat I wore a long-sleeved white shirt with blue stripes and dark grey sweatpants. It hadn't occurred to me that I would still draw attention even at a veterinarian's office, but at least nobody complained about my attire on Twitter.

Yakov had called me dozens of times since this morning, and had left just as many angry voicemails on my phone. And after the photograph went up on Twitter, Yuri sent me a text to tell me how stupid I was to go out in public like this to run an errand that I could've had someone else do for me, and Chris Tweeted to me that he was proud that I was looking after my "little baby". Both messages made me laugh and I sent appropriate replies.

I did not reply to Yakov, though I made a mental note to call him later.

I checked the time on my phone again, and though I was uncomfortable with how long the check-up was taking I also felt a little liberated to be sitting in a vet's office. Just that morning alone I took Makkachin on a lengthy walk (which is why I was puzzled by this long wait because Makkachin had been full of energy on the walk), stopping to get myself breakfast, and then mentally readied myself to clean my refrigerator when I got back. I felt guilty to throw out so much food I wasted, but the smell was abhorrent and I knew if I left it alone that it would soon stink up my entire apartment. The smell was so foul that Makkachin hid in my bedroom so he wouldn't have to be anywhere near it, and even after the fridge was clear it _still_ stunk! I didn't have proper cleaning supplies to clean a refrigerator, so I ended up unplugging it and scrubbing it with a sponge and hot soapy water. Then I had to let it air out while I dragged the foul-smelling garbage bag to the garbage shute on my floor, forcing a smile and saying good morning to the neighbors I saw in the hallway. And after all that I took a shower because I could smell rotten food on my clothes.

I was usually more vigilant about taking care of the food in my fridge, but lately I'd been so distracted that it completely slipped my mind. Despite this, I felt oddly content with how the morning had gone. I'd noticed that despite how uncomfortable it'd been I wasn't truly bothered about cleaning my refrigerator. I didn't feel guilty about not going in to skate. I liked being at home with Makkachin, and I wasn't inconvenienced about spending an impromptu day off doing anything _but_ relaxing.

When I brought Makkachin in for his appointment, I came to another realization: I hadn't thought about skating _once_ since I called in.

It was shocking, sure, although not as shocking as realizing that I didn't want to skate today. It was surprising that I had put a temporary distance between myself and skating and I _liked_ it. It was abnormal to me, considering that figure-skating was something I loved and lived for. I mean, was it normal dreading something you loved doing? Was it normal to be able to put your life and your passion so easily out of sight and mind, even for a few hours?

 _But…when was the last time you_ _ **really**_ _enjoyed skating, Viktor? When was the last time you didn't have to force the enthusiasm? The joy?_

The smile I'd kept in place on my face faltered, and I shook my head. _I'm not going to think of such things now. Not when there's more important things to worry about. Like, what's wrong with Makkachin that this check-up is taking so long?_

The door opened then, and everyone's heads lifted. "Mr. Nikiforov?" the technician called to me.

"Yes?" I replied, standing up. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the other people waiting look down into their phones. But I quickly noticed that Makkachin was not with the technician.

"You're all set. You can go on back and see Dr. Gagarin."

I quickly said my thanks and brushed past her. I saw Dr. Gagarin with Makkachin in one of the examination rooms and rushed into the room. Makkachin sprung up and jumped into my waiting arms. "How is he?" I asked the veterinarian, clinging to Makkachin. My dog kept squirming out of my arms, licking my face and neck.

"Oh Makkachin is fine, Viktor," Dr. Gagarin reassured me. I realized I'd been holding my breath and let it out quickly. "No fleas or heartworms. And you had him vaccinated for rabies last year so he doesn't need another shot yet. I'm _very_ impressed with his dental health, and I saw that he lost two kilograms in weight as we'd recommended last time. You've done a fine job raising this poodle, Viktor."

This was all excellent news, but I was still uneasy. I sensed a strong 'but' at the end of Dr. Gagarin's summary. I mean, if Makkachin really _was_ okay, then they wouldn't have called me back into the examination room. "Is there something else?"

"Yes, actually," Dr. Gagarin said. "Would you mind closing the door and having a seat?"

My heart leapt into my throat, but I did as I was told. I shut the door and sat down across from Dr. Gagarin. Makkachin promptly plopped his head into my lap. "What else would you like to talk about, Dr. Gagarin?"

Dr. Gagarin looked at his clipboard. "How long have you had Makkachin, Viktor?"

"Since I was twelve," I responded. "So, fifteen years."

"And was he a puppy when you got him?"

"Yes, he was. He was almost two months old when I adopted him."

"I see. So that would make Makkachin fifteen years old." I nodded. Dr. Gagarin looked up at me. "Viktor, I hope you know how old that makes him in dog years."

"I have an idea," I said, forcing out a laugh. I didn't like the direction this conversation was going. "I imagine Makkachin is in his sixties or seventies in dog years."

"Makkachin is ninety years old, Viktor."

Dr. Gagarin's abrupt correction stunned me into silence. I couldn't have imagined the expression I showed him because he raised a hand. "Which is why," he said quickly. "I'm honestly stunned by his physical health. Makkachin is a senior dog, but has suffered no geriatric conditions expected of a dog his age. There's been no deterioration of any of his joints, and his stamina rivals that of dogs half his age. His blood pressure is phenomenal as well. If Makkachin hadn't been my patient for the last ten years, I probably wouldn't have believed you if you told me he was fifteen years old."

"I see." I forced the smile to return to my face. "Is there anything else?"

"Viktor." Dr. Gagarin slowly removed his glasses. "I'm going over this evaluation with you to prepare you."

"Prepare me for what?" but a cold, stinging sensation of dread invaded my stomach and quickly spread throughout my body.

"I want you to prepare for the time when you'll have to say goodbye to Makkachin."

My body stiffened, and fear engulfed my senses. I let out another sharp breath, but it sounded loud in the examination room. I slowly looked down at Makkachin. My poodle was asleep under my hand, oblivious to what was going on around him.

Oblivious to the conversation taking place.

I felt my face straining, and I realized that my smile was slipping. I did breathing exercises to bring myself under control. I somehow managed to hang onto my smile as I looked back up at Dr. Gagarin. "I'm afraid I don't understand. You've told me that Makkachin is very healthy for a dog his age. Now you're telling me I need to prepare for him to…" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Makkachin _is_ healthy," Dr. Gagarin told me. "I've seen dogs who are three-quarters his age that aren't _half_ as healthy as Makkachin. But he _is_ fifteen years old, Viktor. He's at an extraordinary age most dogs never reach. But Viktor, most poodles live an average of twelve to fifteen years. Makkachin is at the top of that age bracket. His excellent health at his age truly defies everything I know about senior-age pets. But no matter how healthy he is, good health cannot prevent old age. I'm truly sorry, but Makkachin is nearing the end of his life."

When I brought Makkachin in for his yearly checkup, I never expected to be on the receiving end of this conversation. For a fleeting moment I regretted even bringing Makkachin in at all. It was an unnecessary visit, Makkachin was perfectly healthy. And if I hadn't brought him in, then I wouldn't have to be thinking about something so awful.

 _I'm going to lose Makkachin?_

I also wanted to know why Dr. Gagarin waited until _now_ to spring this on me, until I remembered that on Makkachin's previous checkups I'd been in too much of a hurry to wait for an explanation, or someone else took care of bringing Makkachin to and from his appointments for me. Dr. Gagarin probably hadn't had an opportunity to break this news to me.

But…But this was inevitable. I was a fool to think otherwise.

It took me a few moments to regain my composure. I could no longer maintain my smile and I kept my voice low. Perhaps I decided to whisper so that Makkachin couldn't hear me. "How much time does he have left?"

Dr. Gagarin's response was not reassuring. "I'm afraid I don't know. But you should be prepared regardless, and continue to keep Makkachin by your side."

* * *

1:50 PM

My emotions were still raw when I unlocked the door to my apartment and let Makkachin in ahead of me. Makkachin raced into the apartment as though he were on an adventure, barking and squealing as though everything was right in the world. I took a moment to check on the refrigerator and was relieved to find that the smell was gone. Nodding with relief, I took my jacket and kicked off my shoes and socks. On the counter I spied a pile of papers which comprised of my brainstorming my short program and free skate for the upcoming season. I grabbed them and then arranged the pillows on my couch so that three small pillows were at one end and two large pillows were at another. I collapsed onto the couch, tucking my bare feet into the small pillows while I sank my back into the large ones.

Leaving the vet's office proved to be troublesome. I was not in the best of moods when I walked out of there with Makkachin, and the last thing I had wanted to deal with was a gaggle of fans screaming my name, taking pictures, and asking for autographs. Unfortunately, the name of the vet's office I was at was leaked on Twitter along with the photo, and by the time I left there were fifty fans of all ages waiting for me.

It was something I had _definitely_ not wanted to deal with after finding out that Makkachin was living on borrowed time. But these were my fans, and I was grateful to my fans for all the support they had always given me (even if their timing was horrendous). So I snapped a smile on my face, signed autographs, and posed for pictures. I didn't leave the parking lot for well over an hour afterwards, and although it'd been a much-needed distraction from the terrible news I had received, the experience exhausted my emotions even further than before.

Now that I was home with Makkachin, away from the distractions, the hideous news invaded my thoughts once more. I tried to focus on planning my routines. I tried to channel the frustration and all the terrible feelings I was experiencing right back into my passion; into the profession I'd always lived for. After ten minutes I tossed the papers onto a nearby ottoman and scrubbed a hand over my face. It wasn't working. My love for skating couldn't overcome this ugliness.

Makkachin whimpered, and settled his head onto my knee. I saw that he was concerned for me, and I managed a smile for him as I patted the couch cushion. "Makkachin, come." Makkachin obliged, squeezing his body underneath my legs. I bent my knees and crossed my legs to give him room as he curled around my body and stretched towards my face. I laughed and rubbed his fluffy face between my hands. "Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy?"

Makkachin greeted my words with licks to my face. This continued for a few minutes, and I was comforted by the warmth I felt in my chest at having Makkachin with me. Then he settled his head against my stomach, closing his eyes to take a nap. I stared down at him. I felt his heartbeat against my thigh, and his heavy body was so warm. The warmth inside me faded, replaced by the ugly cold I'd been feeling ever since we left the vet's office.

 _My dog is going to die soon, and I don't know when. I can't believe I didn't ever prepare for this emotionally._

I reached into the pocket of my sweatpants and pulled out my phone. I wanted to share this horrible news with someone, _anyone_ , but I didn't know who to call. Yakov? No—he would pity me if he wasn't already angry with me for skipping practice. Yuri? No—I couldn't burden a teenager with something like this. Georgi or Mila? No—I was an acquaintance with both of them at best and didn't really talk to them outside work. Chris? No—Chris would definitely listen, but what could he do? He was at home in Switzerland with his cat and his boyfriend. It wasn't like he could put his life on hold just to listen to my sob story. Who on Earth could I talk to about this?

… _There isn't anyone I can talk to, is there? I'm not in a relationship with anyone. And my family—_ _ **no**_ _. There's no one I can talk to about this._

I looked up from my cell phone and looked around my living room. My apartment was a home I'd worked so hard to make for myself and for Makkachin. But the apartment suddenly felt too large. It made me acutely aware of how alone Makkachin and I truly were. How alone _I_ truly was.

" _I want you to prepare for the time when you'll have to say goodbye to Makkachin."_

I gasped sharply and closed my eyes. I carefully lifted Makkachin's head into my arms and buried my face into his neck. "I'm sorry," I mumbled against his fur. My throat burned but I didn't feel tears stinging my eyes. "I'm so sorry, Makkachin. I'm sorry I didn't spend as much time with you as I should have. I'm sorry I left you behind in this apartment so many times. I'm sorry we didn't get to do all the things I promised we would do. I'm so sorry…"

Makkachin didn't stir from his nap, which I was thankful for. I didn't want him to see how upset I was about all this. How frightened I was of losing him. And the fear—this terrible fear filling up inside me. Fear that made me feel guilty. Because the thought of losing Makkachin was devastating, but there was another facet of this whole situation that filled me with dread.

 _When Makkachin leaves me…I'm going to be all alone._

My phone buzzed, and I absently remembered that I hadn't taken it off silent mode. I _really_ wasn't in the mood to check my Twitter or Instagram, and I didn't want to talk to anyone via text. I glanced at my phone out of the corner of my eye, but looked up fully when I saw who the message was from. It was a private message on Instagram from 'christophe-gc'.

 _Chris!_ I grabbed my phone and quickly checked the message. There was just one message above a video file, and the message read, " _Well, well, well, what have we here?"_ followed by a heart and several different smiley emoji's. I looked at the title of the video (which was in English) and jerked as shockwaves filled my body.

 _Yuuri Katsuki Attempt's Viktor Nikiforov's Free Skate Program, Stay Close to Me._

I felt my jaw drop as I stared at the video file. I quickly pressed play, and my body jolted once more as I saw that familiar face as the video loaded. It couldn't be…could it? Was this truly Yuuri Katsuki skating _my_ routine?

The video played for a few moments before I hit pause. I went into the photo album on my phone and found the photographs of that fateful night at the Grand Prix Banquet. I pulled up one of the photographs showing Yuuri's handsome face, flushed from alcohol consumption. I stared at the photo intently, engraving the visage in my mind as I'd done so many times before. Then I went back to the video, and to the face that was tilted upwards, mirroring the opening of my free skate. It was the same face.

It was Yuuri Katsuki. It was _really_ him!

I leaned back against the pillows, staring with shock at the beautiful expression of longing on Yuuri's face that mirrored mine for the opening of the routine. But his expression was truly breathtaking—my own expressions during this routine felt like a cheap imitation. I gasped shortly, and my heart started hammering. My free hand pressed against my chest but I couldn't still my heart. I looked at Yuuri's face again and felt the familiar rush of warmth that I felt ever since the Grand Prix Banquet. The love, the longing…the feelings I'd accepted were futile surged through me and stole my breath away.

I had been aware of who Yuuri Katsuki was before the Grand Prix Final. He was the most popular figure-skater in Japan, idolized by young up-and-comers. He was considered an ace of the sport in Japan, and while critics stated he lacked the natural talent for figure-skating he was universally respected for just how _hard_ he worked.

Unfortunately, his lack of natural talent was _not_ the most critical criticism of Yuuri, but rather his performance anxiety. Everyone was acutely aware of it, Yuuri most especially, and it was most likely his anxiety that caused him to fall to last place at the Grand Prix Final. At the time I didn't watch either his short program or free skate at the Final, and in hindsight I'm embarrassed to admit that I didn't even recognize him when I saw him after the completion of the Grand Prix. I had thought he was just another fan. But the look of sorrow, dread, and hopelessness on his face when I offered him an autograph quickly branded into my mind as he turned and walked away without saying anything.

I couldn't stop thinking about the look on his face for the rest of the evening. I wasn't exactly in the best of spirits at the Grand Prix Banquet anyways (I had won for the fifth time, but I didn't feel any joy about it), but I'd felt sick to my stomach that I'd caused someone to have such a painful expression on their face. When Yuuri arrived at the Banquet with his coach (and it'd looked like his coach had dragged him there), he didn't look any better. I knew I'd said the wrong thing to him and I'd wanted to apologize, but I honestly didn't know if my apology would make him feel any better.

Then…Then within a short period of time, my life changed forever.

I closed my eyes as I absorbed the memories of the Banquet. Sometime during the Banquet I'd found myself accosted by Yuuri Katsuki. He was roaring drunk but the alcohol made him talkative, lively, and _charming_. He danced with Yuri, he danced with me, and he _pole-danced_ with Chris! For the first time all day I was genuinely smiling, I was laughing, and I was having fun. At one point I decided to flirt with him, and to my shock he flirted back rather aggressively. The looks he gave me alternated between adulation and—and desire.

It was strange how… _not_ unique this was. Fans always looked at me with adulation, and both women and men gave me looks that spoke more than words could say about what they wanted to do sexually. But when Yuuri reacted to me this way I couldn't help but react in kind. My body responded to him, and I became acutely aware of the way my heart thudded whenever he looked at me, talked to me, or touched me. While his behavior was not unfamiliar to me, the way _I_ reacted to him felt unfamiliar.

Then it happened. He clutched at me and grinded on me, and I was too stunned to react or to even think to push him away. And he looked up at me, and the way his eyes sparkled—how his previously sullen face came alive and the beautiful octaves in his voice—I felt like I was entranced. Then he screamed, "Be my coach, Viktor!" and clung to me once more, and I knew then why I was reacting to him the way I was.

 _I love him. I'm completely in love with him._

The realization made me gasp, and I wanted to grab him and hug him back. I wanted to kiss him in front of everyone and dance with him again. I wanted to cuddle and comfort him, and make sure he would never experience the feelings that caused those painful expressions I'd seen on his face. I never wanted him to ever feel pain again.

I wanted him all to myself.

Just as quickly as my love epiphany happened, Yuuri was taken away from me. Security for the Banquet snatched him up and escorted him out, and his coach (who also looked intoxicated) was left running after them shouting in protest. And I was left standing there feeling like I'd been sucker-punched.

I went back to my hotel room and spent the entire night drinking up any and all information I could find about Yuuri Katsuki. I studied his professional skating career. I watched every video I could find of him on YouTube, many of which were in Japanese. I poured over every picture I could find of him, and it still wasn't enough. I wanted more and more. In less than 24 hours I went from not even recognizing Yuuri Katsuki's face to being head over heels in love with him.

At the time, I thought I knew how it would go. In such a short period of time Yuuri invoked feelings inside me I had never experienced before. I wanted to get to know him more personally, and I wanted to be with him. I thought this would be easy, considering his behavior had demonstrated to me that he felt as strongly for me as I did for him.

…But.

But after that fateful night, I never saw Yuuri again. I tried to find Yuuri at the hotel, but he'd already checked out with his coach. I checked my Twitter and Instagram, and I realized he was subscribed to both of my accounts. I waited for him to send me a message or a greeting or _anything_ that showed that he wanted to meet with me. I waited to see even a fraction of the emotions I had seen when he was drunk.

But…nothing. No messages, no attempts at communication. I even went onto his Twitter and Instagram accounts to message him myself, only to realize that he updated both accounts _sparingly_ at best. If I left him a message, how long would it take for him to respond back to me? Would he even respond back to me at all?

Days of no contact grew in weeks. Into _months_. Yuuri didn't even _try_ to contact me once! It wasn't as though he wasn't able to, considering he was subscribed to my Twitter and Instagram! And yet nothing!

 _What was the point of coming on to me so strongly at the Banquet, and invoking these feeling of love inside me, if he was just going to leave me and never speak to me again? Unless…Unless, was he just playing with me? Did he never feel anything for me at all?_

A few days before Worlds, I sat in my bed watching yet another video of Yuuri on my phone. But unlike the other times I watched Yuuri, this time I was furious. "What is with you?" I asked Yuuri in the video. "Do you feel anything _at all_ for me? Why haven't I heard from you?" The video was Yuuri's free skate at the Grand Prix Final, and I winced when he took his first of _many_ falls that followed all his jumps. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said to the video stupidly, as though I blamed myself for his performance.

It was then though that I'd made the resolution to confront Yuuri at the World Figure Skating Championships and get an answer from him as to why he never contacted me after the Grand Prix Banquet. I wouldn't be so crude as to confront him before the competition, but if he thought he would get away from me afterwards, he was in for a rude awakening. On the plane ride to Tokyo I planned and rehearsed over and over again in my head what I would say to Yuuri. I would corner him and try to get a straight answer for him over his behavior. If he confessed that he loved me, then I would confess in kind. But if he confessed that he _had_ been playing with me and didn't feel the same way…it would hurt. I knew it would hurt. But at least I would finally have an answer from him at least.

So I arrived at Worlds, ready to confront the man I'd fallen in love with while trying to mentally prepare myself for rejection—only to find out that Yuuri hadn't qualified for the final. He wasn't in Tokyo. He was in Japan, sure, but _where_? How was I supposed to get any sort of resolution over being ignored by the man I loved if I couldn't even find out from him what his feelings were? I hadn't prepared for it at all, and while I managed to shake off my shock and destitution to skate my way to another gold medal, everything felt so… _hollow_. I couldn't get to the man I loved, and figure-skating had slowly but surely had become a burden instead of a passion.

Maybe all of this was why I was feeling so…off. Everything going on with Makkachin seemed like the final nail in the coffin of a terrible several months. But this video—this new video of Yuuri skating my routine. Yuuri hadn't contacted me at all, but was he trying to contact me through this video? I had to believe in this. I had nothing else to go on.

I saw in the description of the video Chris had sent me that it was not the original video, so I quickly scoured YouTube to find it. To my surprise I found that, despite the fact that the original video apparently was uploaded early this morning, there were _dozens_ of re-uploads and parody videos in various languages. I clicked on multiples of the videos and they did have a charm to them. One video edited _Stammi Vicino_ into the video to synch with Yuuri's movements (I'd watched a little more of Chris's video and it didn't sound like Yuuri had skated to the song). However, other users had also synched other songs to Yuuri's skating, such as the Benny Hill theme, and songs from several other American movie soundtracks. There were also a couple videos where people edited in light effects and disco balls into the video, which was funny but I wanted to watch the original video in all seriousness. There was one video with a Japanese title, and I'd thought it was the original video. Unfortunately, the video was a quick cut consisting of someone (it sounded like a teenage boy) filming Yuuri's skate from their computer and _screaming_ every time Yuuri successfully landed a jump.

 _Wow. Yuuri must have left quite an impression on his original video if fans have re-edited the footage for parody's sake the same day his video was uploaded._

Although clicking through the videos did confirm an important fact for me—the location of where the video was—an ice skating rink in Hasetsu, Japan.

 _Now I know for sure where you are, Yuuri._

Then, finally, I found the original video. The title and video description were in Japanese, as were most of the comments. The highest rated comment was "素晴らしい！ 完璧！ あなたは私のアイドルです！", and I noted that the username was the same as the user who'd uploaded the screaming video. Satisfied that this was the right video, I clicked play.

It was surreal watching Yuuri Katsuki skate my routine. I could tell by the footage that he was out of shape, and didn't have a figure-skater physique anymore. And he didn't have the music to skate to for cues. And yet despite this, the performance was flawless. The way he moved around the rink—his step sequence, the dramatic gestures, even the jumps—was incredible. I couldn't believe he could pull off a routine I had deliberately made difficult in order to challenge myself, with an out of shape body and no music accompaniment.

 _But he's not competing. In all the previous videos I've seen, he only really did poorly at the competition level. For leisurely skating he did much better._

Leaning my temple against my fingers, I watched the video intently. What _was_ Yuuri's intention of uploading this? Was it really his way of calling out to me? That he did reciprocate my feelings? He had performance anxiety—maybe he hadn't contacted me since the Grand Prix because _he_ didn't think I felt the same way for him? Maybe he was embarrassed about his own behavior during the Banquet? Now it makes sense! Of _course_ he didn't contact me! The whole Grand Prix experience had been unpleasant for him, so of course he didn't reach out me! He feels he embarrassed himself in front of me with his drunken antics, when in reality nothing could be further from the truth!

 _If that's the case, then how am I supposed to approach him and let him know that my feelings are genuine? If he's so shy about his feelings while sober that he has to skate my own routine and put it online as a love letter to me, then how do I respond to someone so bashful?_

" _Be my coach, Viktor!"_

I started, and looked up. "That's it."

Coach. Yuuri had asked me to be his coach. Now I had a reason to get close to him. I could use this video with the pretext of wanting to be his coach, and of course I would teach him everything I know. But…But I could also use my coaching to get close to him. To show him that I genuinely loved him, and that he didn't need to worry about his own feelings. After all this time of pining, wondering if Yuuri had been playing with my feelings—I knew now that he wasn't. I knew now that he felt the same way, but was shy about it. That he could only express his love through a video and post it online with the hopes I would find it.

And I found it. I quickly sent a message back to Chris, thanking him immensely for sending me the video. Then I turned to my dog still sleeping in my lap. "Makkachin." I gently shook him and he slowly woke up. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and looked up at me. I smiled down at him. "How would you like to go to Japan?"

Makkachin probably didn't understand me, but he reacted positively to my gleeful tone. He barked and stood up, wagging his tail enthusiastically. I nodded to him. "Then it's settled. We're moving to Japan, Makkachin!" I looked at the phone and saw that I had accidentally restarted the video and Yuuri was doing the routine again. I paused the video and showed it to Makkachin. "Look, Makkachin. This is the person I'm in love with. Isn't he wonderful?"

Makkachin sniffed at my cell phone screen before licking it. I quickly pulled it away but Makkachin followed the retreat, trying to reach the phone and lick at the image of Yuuri Katsuki again. I laughed as I tried to hold my cell phone out of his reach, and I was comforted by the unexpected peace that settled over me. It was amazing how I could wake up feeling so troubled, and then feel like everything was finally right in the world.

 _I'm going on an adventure, and I'm going to bring Makkachin with me. I'm going to give him a wonderful time for as long as I have him. I'm going to use my skating to help someone else. And…And I'm going to claim the person I love and never let them go._


End file.
